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After the opera had been halted while Olbricht was cut down, revived and arrested, and after Oskar had called the station to have him taken away, Max finally had the opportunity to step in. He couldn’t have stopped the process, and Oskar had been going on sheer determination to do his job properly. Once it was just the two of them, however, he knew it was time. Oskar looked exhausted, and his movements had slowed. His captivity was telling on him now.
“Are you feeling all right? Are you injured, apart from your neck?”
“My neck?” Oskar looked at him in puzzlement. He reached up to touch his neck, and winced. His own voice surprised him in its hoarseness.
“I didn’t realize - The rope, of course. I hadn’t thought about it. It’s all right, I suppose.”
“It looks pretty angry to me,” Max observed. “I’ll want to look at it later. Are you hungry? How long have you been kept here?”
“Almost twenty-four hours, I think. He followed me after we parted, and knocked me out. He must have hit me pretty hard. I didn’t wake up until a few minutes before you arrived. I haven’t been thinking about food, but yes, I suppose I should be hungry.” The effort to speak had him coughing, trying to clear his throat.
“We’ll get something to eat then, before I take you home. Come on.” Max put a hand under his elbow to help him rise, and to his embarrassment, he needed the steadying hand. Max helped him into the carriage too.
“I really don’t need fussing after,” Oskar protested.
“Yes, you do,” Max replied quietly, with a slight smile. “You aren’t invincible.” He directed the driver to one of their favorite haunts and helped Oskar unobtrusively inside and to a table.
“Have what you like, but I’d advise against meat or anything in large pieces. Your throat will be swollen, and you shouldn’t irritate it more. And you shouldn’t have any alcohol either,” Max advised.
“Are you crazy? I want a whiskey - several whiskeys - and stew.” He glowered at Max rather challengingly. Max said nothing. When the waiter took their order he asked for a large hot tea and some spaetzle with gravy. Oskar raised an eyebrow, but made no comment. He was aware that Max was eyeing him with some concern, but he shrugged it off. He would be fine when he got home; he could look after himself. He had done so for the past year and a half.
As soon as the whiskey was set before him, Oskar reached to slug it back. His throat burned like fire and closed, and he found himself choking, gasping for air. The room even dimmed a little. Max had risen and was leaning over him, rubbing his back.
“Breathe slowly. Don’t panic,” he advised calmly.
Oskar tried to snort at him, to shake his head at the ‘don’t panic’ part, but he had to concentrate too much on catching his breath to do anything else. By the time he had somewhat recovered, taking small sips of water, the food arrived. They looked at each other, but Max didn’t say anything. Oskar tucked into the stew with a somewhat still-shaky hand. He sipped much of the liquid before he even tried the meat or potatoes. Even though he cut the meat into smaller pieces, he knew he wasn’t going to try eating it. He was too fearful of choking again. It reminded him of the feeling he’d had when Olbricht tightened the noose, and the pressure against his throat before Max had gotten the rope from around his neck.
Quietly, Max exchanged their plates and put the tea before him.
“Just go slowly and take small bites and sips.”
Oskar again had plenty of the liquid to moisten his throat before he took a spare mouthful of the spaetzle. The tea was soothing, and he found that if he was careful and ate as Max suggested, he could swallow, although his throat felt raw. He was torn between feeling annoyed that Max had been right and glad that he was there to help. He noted that Max had a quiet conversation with the waiter, who brought him two glass jars placed in a paper bag - and placed a dish of ice cream in front of Oskar. He frowned again at Max taking charge and presuming - prescribing, he supposed - but had to admit that it was very soothing to his throat.
When he’d finished, Oskar did feel better overall, yet he was also very tired. He wanted nothing more than to go home to bed. The maitre’d obtained a carriage for them and Max gave Oskar’s address. Oskar was past either surprise or annoyance. There was a part of him, as earlier, that was glad Max was there.
When they reached Oskar’s house and went inside, Max took him into the bedroom.
“I’m going to gather a few things and take a look at you. Why don’t you get out of your clothes, put on a nightshirt or something more comfortable, and come to the dining room where there’s good light. Do you have anything that can be used as bandages?”
“Bandages? I don’t need-“
“Yes, you do.”
Oskar sighed. He would give up now. He was exhausted, he seemed to have no strength or will, he hurt everywhere, and Max wasn’t being Doctor Know-It-All but was instead kind and soothing. He didn’t want to fight for control any more.
“In the linen cupboard next to the pantry, on the bottom shelf there are some old towels. They are clean.”
“Thank you.”
When Max left the room, Oskar fumbled out of his suit, undressing to his vest and underwear. He pulled on a dressing gown, wrapped himself in it, and succumbed to the pull of the bed, thinking he would lie down only a for a minute or two before Max was ready with whatever he was going to do.
“Oskar. Oskar!” A hand shook his shoulder, gently and then less gently.
“What? I’m sorry, I’ll get up,” he mumbled.
“It’s all right. No need. I just..you took a while to wake up.” Max’s eyes were worried.
“I’m very tired.”
“I know. Sit up a bit, I’ll put the pillows behind you,” Max directed.
Oskar felt wobbly now. He was glad he didn’t need to try getting up. He was dizzy, and slightly sick to his stomach, and his head had begun to pound.
“How many fingers do you see?”
“I don’t feel like foolish games, Max.”
“How many?”
“Three.”
“Does your head hurt? Are you dizzy?”
“Yes. My stomach - “
“You feel a little sick? You have a concussion, Oskar. I was holding up two fingers. “Let me take a look where he hit you.”
Max’s gentle fingers probed the back of his head. It hurt, and Oskar grunted in pain. A wave of dizziness hit him and his head fell forward against Max’s shoulder.
“It’s all right. I’m sorry, I know it must hurt.” Max held on to him until he felt ready to lift his head. He put a cloth into a bowl of water, wrung it out, and held it to the back of Oskar’s head.
“You have a good-sized lump, my friend. You have a right to hurt.”
The almost-hot water in the cloth felt good. It also soothed when applied to the burns on his neck, and on his bruised, swollen larynx. Oskar groaned as the heat penetrated.
“It’s all right. Nothing terribly bad, only painful now. But it will pass. You will get better.” To Oskar, it sounded as if Max’s voice trembled a little.
“Just a little of this on your neck, and I’ll wrap it loosely. It would be better if you didn’t wear a starched collar for a few days, but I know you, so I’ll wrap it,” Max continued matter-of-factly but softly, working as he spoke.
“Honey? Is that what you got from the waiter? Why?”
“Honey and more tea, which you’ll drink with the honey in it, for your throat. It has also been shown to prevent infection, so I’ll put it on your burns. It may not be necessary but it won’t do any harm and it and the bandage should protect the wound from irritation.”
“You fuss too much.”
“For heaven’s sake Oskar, you deserve the fuss! You were almost hung,” Max groaned, helping him to lie flat in the bed again.
“Max?”
“If I had taken any longer to figure things out, or get to the theatre. If I’d arrived five minutes later. If Olbricht hadn’t caught his boot. If I hadn’t been able to get the rope off your neck before… Too many ifs,” Max murmured, “too many things that might have gone wrong.”
“But they didn’t,” Oskar reasoned. “As you are telling me, it will be all right, Max.”
“I know. But….”
“But?”
Max looked as if he was about to say something more, but after a moment’s silence he shrugged slightly.
“It’s not important. You should try and get some sleep, but I’m going to wake you every couple of hours for a while. I have to, with a head injury,” he insisted at Oskar’s grimace, “to be sure you wake up.”
“Well, you will do whatever it is that you must do, Doktor Liebermann,” Oskar sighed with a slight smile to take the sting out of his words.
“Yes,” Max agreed rather solemnly, “I will. Get some sleep,” he repeated, turning the lamp down. He picked his things up and stood to take them into the kitchen, Oskar supposed. He had scarcely closed his eyes before the events of the day caught up with him in earnest, and he was out.
How long he was asleep he didn’t know. He came awake once with Max squeezing his shoulder. He growled at having his sweet sleep interrupted and muttered something. He heard Max chuckle softly, and he could swear he felt a gentle hand on his hair.
Oskar was back in the bowels of the theatre, tied to the chair while Olbricht decided how he was going to slice him up - piece by piece or all at once. He tried to cry out but his throat was too dry and he was gagged. His throat hurt. Olbricht must have already cut him. He looked down and saw a river of blood running down his chest. He couldn’t breathe. With his last strength, he shouted as loudly as he could and flung himself at the madman.
“Oskar! Oskar wake up, it’s only a dream. It’s a dream. I’m here. I’m here,” Max repeated, softer when he knew Oskar was awake.
Oskar found himself gasping for breath, shaking, the sweat running off his body. He had, he realized slowly, flung himself into Max’s arms, which were tight around him, stroking his back, comforting him. He both needed and wanted the comfort, and what person mattered more to him than Max?
“It’s all right, it’s over now,” Max murmured against the top of his head. “You’re safe. Safe,” he repeated.
“He cut me. He cut my throat. I saw the blood running.”
“No,” Max denied. “No blood. See?” He drew back a moment so Oskar could look down and see his unstained dressing gown and vest. “Just a bad dream. A nightmare, that will fade from your memory. I’ll do my best to make sure it does,” he whispered. “Now I’m going to get you some of the tea, and make you more comfortable. Will you be all right for a couple of minutes?”
“You won’t be long?”
“No, I won’t. I promise.”
Oskar nodded, willing his breathing to slow. He tried closing his eyes but it immediately brought the nightmare back into his consciousness. He forced his gaze to move over the room, trying not to panic, trying not to fall aslep again.
It seemed like an eternity before Max returned. He set a mug of tea on the bedside table, then wiped Oskar down with a damp towel, this one wet with cold water. By the time he was finished, Oskar felt slightly better. He sat up and drank the warm, honey-laced tea, shivering a little in reaction even now, but doing his best to hide it. When he’d finished, he looked at Max rather shamefacedly.
“Will you stay..here? Don’t go back to the other room?” he asked. Max smiled.
“I wasn’t in the other room while you were dreaming. I was right here. And I was planning to stay,” he revealed. He got up and went to the other side of the bed.
Oskar only just now noticed that Max was in his shirtsleeves and collarless. He stretched out next to him.
“Go back to sleep. I’m not going anywhere. If you should dream again I’ll be here beside you,” he assured Oskar.
“I don’t want to live through it again. Every time I close my eyes - “
“I know. I know. Shhh,” Max comforted, coaxing Oskar’s head onto his shoulder. “You’re not alone.”
“No,” Oskar considered after a moment, “I’m not. Thank you.” He slowly let himself relax against Max, soaking up the security he felt knowing Max was there. Although he didn’t want to give in to sleep, he did all the same, his body still too traumatized to fight it off.
***
Oskar woke to the sun in his eyes where it seeped through the joining of the drapes. By its position, he judged the time to be perhaps eight. There was a weight at his back, and he realized that Max was curled around him, his cheek resting against Oskar’s back. Considering what had happened the night before, he was both glad and grateful that Max had shepherded him through a meal, got him home in his own bed, and looked after him as a good doctor and a good friend should.
He had wondered before if Max had any idea what his true feelings were about him. Last night was his first bare hint that he might, and that he might also perhaps have similar feelings. Thinking back, he didn’t believe that all of Max’s emotional reaction and his care last night were an expression of a simple friendship. But how to broach the subject, Oskar didn’t know. If he was wrong, their friendship would either be over, or he could never feel at ease in it again. It was too important that he not do something that would either scare Max away or disgust him. He’d rather never say anything than lose Max’s friendship.
Oskar tried to turn, carefully so as not to wake him. To his surprise, he met Max’s wide open pale eyes, staring at him with the softest expression. He felt it to his toes, that look. It melted him. Max reached up and brushed his palm lightly over Oskar’s beard, caressing his jaw.
“Are you all right?” he asked softly.
“Yes, thanks to you.”
“It scared me, what happened yesterday. Without any warning, it showed me what could happen at any time. I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you.” By the look in his eyes as much as by his words, Oskar couldn’t mistake his meaning, and he didn’t think Max intended any ambiguity either.
“It wasn’t so long after I met you that I knew,” Oskar admitted suddenly, grasping the opportunity he’d wondered if he’d have, his voice still husky. “But I would not have said anything. Last night, I couldn’t be sure, but I thought maybe I had reason to hope that you might feel as I do. You’re braver than I am.” He touched his forehead to Max’s, and brushed Max’s lips softly with his own, nuzzling. Max sighed, and returned the almost-kiss.
“I don’t know,” he mused, “that was pretty brave.” He tucked his head against Oskar’s shoulder, fingers reaching up to smooth the hair at the back of Oskar’s neck.
“Oskar. I love you,” Max breathed.
“Are you trying to out-brave me?” Oskar snorted.
“I almost said it last night. I wanted to say it when I took you away from the opera house. When I knew I’d come so close to losing you. But you wouldn’t have wanted to hear it then, so I didn’t say anything. You,” Max sighed,” don’t need to say it. I don’t expect - “
“Then I will surprise you, Doctor Know-It-All Liebermann, and say to you what you believe I won’t,” Oskar rumbled, stroking Max’s hair. “I love you also, impossible pest that you are. Now may we stop with the bravery? I’m still tired. We will have to go to the station later, but now I must sleep again. And you couldn’t have gotten much sleep either, looking after me so well. Let us lie here together for another couple of hours, hm?”
“Do you really mean that? You’re not just saying it because I want to hear it?” Max asked shyly.
“Shut up, Doctor Liebermann,” Oskar whispered, snugging him close.
“Whatever you say, Inspector.”